


You'll Never Know

by okjetaime



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a Dramatic Bitch, Gen, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Movie Night, Mutual Pining, OR IS HE, Songfic, Tons of Film References, Tons of Music References Also, aziraphale is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 00:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20612084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okjetaime/pseuds/okjetaime
Summary: "Crowley does like the act of consuming art. In those silent moments in the cinema, he can pretend that all those forbidden things inside him are caused by external factors. He can fool himself a bit that it’s not his fault.The thing is, Aziraphale seems to like pushing him into consuming them on an excessive amount, that he thinks maybe one day he’ll just die from overdosing on them."orAziraphale takes Crowley to watch Casablanca, Crowley takes Aziraphale to watch the Shape of Water, and many, many other movie nights.





	You'll Never Know

Crowley loves Aziraphale.

That should be a well-known, established fact by now. He is pretty much sure the whole world knows it, or at least the whole world, except that one tiny being whom the whole story actually revolves around.

But he couldn’t throw it in the face of the angel, could he? First of all, what if the move brings unwanted attentions from either, or worse, both Heaven or Hell, and all these ‘indulgences’ finally has to come to an end? Second of all, which is actually Crowley’s primary concern over up above or down below; what if Aziraphale decides he just doesn’t feel the same way?

So, he keeps his silence.

The only occasions he would ever let his weak, unbashful heart have a chance to bleed, is with art appreciation. Over the millenniums, he has learned that the best part of art is not how it is humans’ mean to convey complex emotions beyond words, but how it still works even when you’re not the one creating them. Crowley is imaginative, of course, but never as so as the humans. They are born with this beautiful gift placed into their hands, and all a demon like him could do is stand there in front of a painting, or listen to a song, or sit in a cinema, and let himself _feel_.

In those moments, he can pretend that all those forbidden things inside are caused by external factors. He can fool himself a bit that it’s not his fault.

So, yes, he does like the act of consuming art.

The thing is, Aziraphale seems to like pushing him into consuming them on an excessive amount, that he thinks maybe one day he’ll just die, not discorporate, _die_, from overdosing on them.

In other, more human words, he just loves taking Crowley to the cinema.

Yes, they both watch all kinds of films, from all over the world. They watched the Japanese _House_, which was so overly bizarre that they couldn’t even decide whether the film was good or evil. They watched _Apocalypse Now, _with both of them crying throughout, lamenting the human’s suffering, as they have been doing on-and-off for the last 6,000 years or so. And, on one very special occasion, they even watched _Jesus Christ Superstar_, and despite all the denials, the demon could sense that the angel actually _enjoyed_ it.

However, from all the era he could have chosen to obsess over, Aziraphale seems to favour those old, black-and-white, sappy Hollywood ‘golden age’ movies.

The angel literally spent a good part of the 50s in the Hollywood, jumping from cinemas to cinemas, premiers to premiers. He even invited Crowley to join him in some of them, like _Singing in the Rain_ (Someone, please, make them stop kicking their feet around in joyous synchronisation,) _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof _(seriously, angel? Seriously?), and _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ (that one he admitted he like, but just because Audrey Hepburn’s fashion was so _on point_.)

Among them, the one the angel liked best, and might have participated in the process of making it somewhat famous, is _Casablanca_.

In 2012, Crowley was dragged to watch the 70th Anniversary of the film by an inadequate reason like “if the world really is coming to an end in a few years and _the Sound of Music_ is what I am going to be stuck with, then I think it would be a great joy to at least hear Sam play it again one last time.”

Crowley would have agreed, if it wasn’t for the fact that they also went out for the 20th Anniversary, and the 30th, and the 40th, and the 50th, and the 60th, and pretty much all the anniversaries that ever existed on the film.

Damn, Aziraphale does like Casablanca very, _very_ much.

When they sat in the cinema, though, with a digital projector rather than a classic celluloid one showing the picture behind them, and the dim glow from the black and white shots reflected on the angel’s eyes, making them gleam with joy, mixing with _As Time Goes By_ playing in the background, Crowley can’t seem to mind much.

_You must remember this:_

_A kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh._

_The fundamental things apply, as time goes by._

In Crowley’s opinion, that song is so wrong, yet so right. He resents the phrases like ‘Woman needs man, and man must have his mate,’ feeling that it’s extremely outdated, as they have come countless generations away from Adam and Eve. But on the part about love never changing, that part he, an entity of 6,000 years old, can confirm to be true.

Love; it’s with him from the beginning of humanity itself, and it’s with him now, so, perhaps it is still a same old story.

He just hopes that the world really will always welcome lovers, even one with the face of a demon. It’s nonsensical, he knew, to hope for such thing. He is unforgiveable, yet he hopes. That’s all he could do.

They argue about their tastes in cinema occasionally, only because it’s a tender, light-minded topic to ponder on when they have free time from work and glasses of good wine in hands.

It usually starts with Crowley bickering about all the unbelievably-happy-ending films that make up the list of Aziraphale’s favourites, then the angel would go on to defend them, raving about the bloody messy 20th Century, praising how the beautiful things were born out of the ashes and the pain. How he, personally, experiences so much in the seemingly straight storyline, and has nostalgias about that era more than any other they have been through.

Of course, Crowley couldn’t deny that. 20th Century has been a blast, and it’s definitely better than the 14th Century. However, he would prefer films like Fellini’s _8 ½_ and the witty _Rififi_, which are apparently too ‘niche,’ and that’s why he helped establishing one too many art film festivals, where people could go and get confused as hell out of pretty much every film shown, so it’s a plus for Hell. It needs no saying out loud that he has _West Side Story_ as his guilty pleasure, but it’s based from _Romeo and Juliet_, the arguably greatest work of their good ol’ friend William, so how can he deny that? The point was, he and Aziraphale had a vastly different view on the cinema.

One day, though, they ended up with a middle ground, concluding that cinema is the tool humans use to reflect upon themselves who they are as a species, and so it captures alongside each other their worst and their best.

But then, the angel smiled, the way he did when he was about to order another plate of sushi because it was so delicious. “Yet, isn’t it most beautiful when humans _believe_, and try so hard to convince the others to do the same as them, that they can be good? That there is still a path of redemption?”

When he put it that way, with so much admiration and pride in his voice, how can one deny another round of _It’s a Wonderful Life_?

On the nostalgia part, Aziraphale is absolutely right. Humans, despite having such short lifespan and didn’t even experience it first-hand like the two of them did, keep lamenting about the era. They made films like _the Artist_,_ La La Land_, and _the Shape of Water_, all of which went on to win an Oscar or two, 60 years after _An American in Paris_ did. The gap is a blink of an eye for ethereal beings, but a lifetime for some humans, and in the last 60 years so many things have changed, yet something doesn’t.

_The Shape of Water_, ah, that one he took Aziraphale to the premiere. The tickets were easily acquired, with just one phone call to his friend Guillermo Del Toro, who happened to be the director of the film, and there you have it. Crowley had been keeping an eye on the brilliant director and his hell-approved fascination ever since he made his first film back in Mexico, but they got a chance to come close when he asked the demon for some ideas on _Pan’s Labyrinth_, although he ended up coming up with all of them himself and the only thing Crowley had to offer was a hand in the making of some creature’s early prototype. It was tremendously fun like nothing he had ever done before. He had forgotten how fun _creating _was.

Lately, he and the angel hadn’t watched films together much, since the Armageddon decided to occupy their lives. Nowadays, when they met, even at theatres or cinemas, it’s mostly comparing notes and discussing their next steps.

However, this film seemed like a common ground between his and Aziraphale’s taste in cinema, and if there were to be only less than 2 years left between them and the world ending, then he’d probably want to treat his angel to something nice, one last time.

So, yes, he was relieved when he was the angel all excited for the premiere. They went in quietly, slipping through red carpets and celebrities as if it meant nothing, because to them, it did. What matters the most has always been the film.

Yes, Crowley keeps the sunglasses on even in the cinema. His serpent eyes are not good with light, like, at all, so keeping them on always is safer, especially if you want to stare tirelessly at a bright screen for some time. The only time he took the glasses off is when he’s with Aziraphale, and damn right he shines and it’s brighter than anything he had ever witnessed and his eyes always hurt a bit, but that full force of beauty is worth all the pain, and the angel doesn’t have to know, does he?

He also likes keeping his sunglasses on during films because he sometimes cries in it, just like any other mortals, but has to keep his cool, just like any other demons.

By the end of the premiere, Crowley was exhausted. Even with the sunglasses on, he still used up all his will to make the angel not notice the tears running down his face through the _You’ll Never Know _number. It would be rather awkward to explain the reason why he cried goddamn heart for a goddamn sappy film about a beautiful person falling in love with a monster.

_You'll never know just how much I miss you,_

_You'll never know just how much I care._

_And if I tried, I still couldn't hide my love for you._

_You ought to know, for haven't I told you so a million or more times?_

Deep down, he wished the angel would know.

To his unpleasant surprise, the next time Crowley walked into the bookshop for another year-end meeting, the old phonograph that hasn’t sung anything in a pretty long time, since the angel preferred to read in silence, now crooned out, loud and clear, the melody of _the bloody song_.

At first, he thought it was Aziraphale’s addictions to the song, or probably the angel knew about his session in the cinema and, being the bastard he is, decided to taunt Crowley for it. But then the angel started to complain about the phonograph acting strange after all these loyal years it’s served him so well as nothing more than a prop, and he didn’t have a single copy of the song whatsoever, that was when the demon realised that they are in another Bentley Situation.

However, unlike the Bentley’s obsessive attachment to Queen, the phonograph decided its attachment would be with the era. Besides the song, it went on to sing a few Peggy Lee, Billy Holliday, and Frank Sinatra. No more than a dozen songs rotating back and forth on its own.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind, though, since all the songs were what he used to love and forgot about. Music, like cinema, has always been a shared-not-shared thing between them. Before the turn of the century, when there were either classical, European music, or indigenous, local croons, their tastes in music seemed to agree, since there were not much to go by. But when rock was invented (regrettably not by him), Crowley dived headfirst into it, while Aziraphale lingered on with the now so-called oldies, and they parted ways there. However, revisiting of old recordings always bring back one or another kind of memory through the years, so Crowley couldn’t really care.

With the Armageddon nearing, _We’ll Meet Again_ started playing on repeat more and more, alternating with _The End of the World_, and that was when Crowley came up with a secret theory that the songs would reflect whatever Aziraphale is feeling. The mood the songs brought was rather depressing, in Crowley’s opinion, but it seemed like the angel’s way to channel his fear when he himself put on a brave, smiley face, so he decided to keep his mouth shut about the situation.

Some time later, he went back to think about the theory, and realised it also works if it’s reflecting his feelings. Guess neither of them will ever know.

One day, drunk in the back room of the bookshop, Aziraphale absentmindedly hummed, out of nowhere, the melody of _The Way You Look Tonight_, and although the angel was too far gone to care that Crowley could hear it, it was still too much for the demon’s heart.

He didn’t even have to be sober to know the lyrics to the song. He doesn’t like to admit that he like love songs, but he does like them. The way the singers croon tenderly, softly, sometimes whine, sometimes almost cry, just to get the love through, it breaks him in the most delicious way possible. He tries not to listen to them much, though. Despite his habit of channeling his emotions through appreciating humans’ art, love songs are a step too far. If he keeps listening to it, one day, something inside will eventually get too loud, and he daren’t allow that.

However, confined within this small yet infinite moment between Aziraphale’s voice, in his mind, Crowley painted the lyrics to the hummed tone, making it bloom in the silence of the night. He couldn’t really guess at all if it’s just Aziraphale loving the song, or loving… Well, let’s just not entertain the possibility, what with all this armageddon thing approaching in just a number of days.

He had a strong urge to sing it back to the angel, hoping that it would be some kind of a confession, that the song would finally reveal everything he had kept all these years. Then, he thought better of it, and decided instead to memorise every frequency of the low humming voice that vibrated through to his core, keeping it close to his heart. For when they are eventually taken, _torn_, apart by the War, maybe he would be allowed to feel the glow, just thinking of the angel and the way he sounded tonight, and that would be the only thing that keeps him sane.

_Lovely, never, never change._

_Keep that breathless charm._

_Won't you please arrange it?_

_'Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight._

Then, the world didn’t end. Surprise, surprise.

After realising neither of them has any obligations to uphold anymore, they start spending more time together. Without the weight of it ending always on their shoulders, the world feels a little bit kinder to them. Crowley comes to think that maybe they could enjoy this while it lasts, whatever _this_ is. He hangs out at the bookshop more often, and from time to time they would go to the demon’s flat, where Aziraphale would just sit there, content with watching him watering the plants, the same way he enjoyed watching the angel reading books.

They also go to the cinema more frequently. Now, they watch all kinds of films together, from lame superhero blockbusters, to midnight screenings of the cult classics. Some films only Aziraphale enjoys, and some films it’s Crowley who gets to have fun, and some films neither of them can really call entertainment, but that’s okay, at least they are there beside each other.

Not long after they were sure they had time, and this is a long run thing, Crowley finally creates a Netflix account (which obviously he doesn’t pay but gets the full-hd membership anyway) for both of them, and to his surprise, Aziraphale goes along with it.

“I have no other people to watch films with anyway, so do whatever you’d like, dear.” The angel offers a poor excuse when he sees a compact-sized smart TV in his bookshop’s backroom, and Crowley pretends that the excuse is good enough.

They have movie nights, and sometimes binge a whole show until the morning of two days later. Usually they take turns picking the films, which means if Crowley is patient enough watching cooking shows, he in turn will be able to pick some kinky stuffs to watch, just to tease the angel out.

It is all Crowley never thought he could have had.

It takes him quite some time though, and after many, many, many films and songs later, one day he walked into the shop, greeted with the angel’s bright smile, their eyes met, and the song _You’ll Never Know_ plays, as if on cue.

And something clicks.

All this time, he has been self-obsessed, thinking that the angel would never love him, that he never really opens his eyes wide enough to see that, despite all the efforts, the angel does.

How Aziraphale always finds his way back to his demon, always staying on the radar, easily found. How sometimes in the middle of the night Crowley is practically blessed awake with prayers, the thought of the angel proudly presenting itself at the front of his mind. How all the songs, both in the bookshop and the Bentley, play at the exactly right moment. How sometimes the feelings are too great to bear that the demon is sure he alone couldn’t be producing all this love. How he had thought it was all his own doings, while all along it has been the two of them to blame.

The dawn of realisation must show on his face, since something in Aziraphale’s expression shifts, _melts_, and he gives him the small but _oh so_ _beautiful_ smile that he never sees before, seemingly reserved for only the utmost special occasions, such as this one.

Well, after 6,000 years, one must make it count, mustn’t one?

“Oh, my dear, I was being afraid you’ll never know if you don’t know now.” The angel spoke softly.

And he knows. He knows, now.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you’re wondering, yes, Crowley invented the term ‘Netflix and Chill’ just so that he could invite his angel to movie nights and make it sound dubious and obscure as hell.
> 
> If you wanna talk, tweet me at @okjetaime!


End file.
